The Abhorsen's Sword
by the Wallmaker
Summary: Chapter 9 Uploaded! The four Bloodlines begin to converge on Estel and Albalef.
1. Chapter 1 Mosaibe's Death

Alright, Hi! Thanks for taking a look at my first Abhorsen fic. It's not complete, there'll be more chapters added soon. This is Pre-Sabriel…pre, pre, pre-Sabriel! So there's no spoilers, don't worry. Please be kind and review, I appreciate any feedback and _constructive_ criticism! Oh, and by the way, there isn't a title yet, "The Forging" is simply what I uploaded it as. I hate putting "untitled". 

Within one of the many warm hallways that led to the Observatory in the heart of the Glacier, Charter Marks flared into life, providing light to the passing Clayr. One of them, many summers younger than the other, was confused and questioning.

"I simply do not understand. We have tried to See events with larger Watches before, and we all know that they do not work!" She was unsure of who called this larger Watch, and did not want to get herself into trouble for speaking this way, but she was simply unable to keep her thoughts to herself.

The elder Clayr silenced the younger with a sharp look as they passed a sending, who opened a large door and bowed deeply before vanishing back into the wall. 

"We are not attempting to See an _event,_ as you well know." The elder Clayr hissed. "With the trouble the Abhorsen and the Abhorsen-in-waiting have been having, we are supposed to See an _item._" 

The elder Clayr muttered as the younger Clayr brushed passed her into the large round Observatory with the others, "And we are to _try_ to See the one to forge it."

Being the last of three children was never a good thing. Especially when the first born of your family was heir to the throne, and the second born was an adept Charter Mage. Nathaniel admitted that he himself was a rather good Charter Mage, but he wasn't as talkative about his own skill as his stuck-up sister was about hers. Faralie had just taken an appointment as the Head Magistrix at the Academy of Belisaere, a position that was loudly discussed in the palace, much of it by Faralie herself. 

Henreid, Nathaniel's gallant, but distant, older brother, was always busy with the Kingdom's events and happenings. Several years older than his siblings, he did not have much to do with them, except at Royal banquets, and other, important formal occasions. Nathaniel understood. If _he_ had a brother that was close to 12 years younger than him, they wouldn't do much together, either.

Their mother, the Queen, was kept away and busy, constantly dealing with domestic and foreign affairs. Their father, a Charter adept, was also kept busy, engaged with recasting of old or broken spells. To Nathaniel, he always seemed to have time to hear Faralie's stories of her achievements, but never a moment for a brief discussion with his youngest son.

Nathaniel sighed and brought his feet down off of his desk with a thump. The desk was littered with bits of wire and stray Charter Marks, and a few clung to his sock and they landed on the floor with a "tink" sound. Nathaniel enjoyed constructing things. Sometimes, they were even useful. One of his creations stared at him from atop the shelf across the room. A small creature that resembled a lizard, it flicked it's tail in disgust at not being paid attention to. Tiny Charter Marks glittered on it. Quick as a wink, it scurried down the shelf, and scampered to the desk and began to lick up the Charter Marks that shimmered on the floor. It's sole purpose was to digest the Charter Marks that often ended up left on the ground or desk when Nathaniel completed what he was making. A few years before, the Charter Marks that were left over from the creation of an incendiary tool that could be used for lighting the furnace or wood stove had remained on the floor until Nathaniel had stepped on a mark that, upon a touch, conjured flame. Needless to say, the little lizard was created shortly after the burns on Nathaniel's foot had begun to heal. 

Nathaniel brushed away a few bits of metal and wire and put his head down on the desk. He was almost dozing off, envisioning the next thing that he would make, perhaps a brother lizard creature, one to eat the pieces of metal when he was done. His reverie was interrupted when there came a sharp rapping at the door. Nathaniel lifted his head and questioned blearily "Yes?"

One of the Royal Messengers bustled in, and bowing curtly, told him that his mother ("Her Royal Majesty Queen Lorileth" the messenger said with a slight flourish and bow) requested his presence in the Royal Chambers. Nathaniel hadn't even known that his mother was returned from one of her many conferences abroad. He stood up and followed the messenger out of his room and up the stairs. If the messenger had come directly from the Chambers to fetch him, he had quite a long trek. Many stairs, and across vast halls. The doorward sendings at the Chamber's entrance bowed at the approaching Prince and opened the large, Charter Marked, wooden doors. Nathaniel nodded to them as he passed and the first face he saw upon entering the Royal Chambers was not that of his mother, but that of his sister's. Groaning inwardly, he watched as she shook her silvery blonde hair back off her shoulders and sit up a little straighter as he came in. She seemed to peer down at him, though she was sitting, and he was standing a little more than six feet tall. "Hello, Nate. How are you?" Nathaniel almost groaned out loud. The proper thing to do would be to answer her and to ask how she was. This would lead to a very long and irritating speech about her latest accomplishments, none of which Nathaniel cared very much about. Before Nathaniel could even decide whether or not to respond, his mother crossed the room with Henreid. "Nathaniel," His mother, still in her travelling clothes came forward to embrace him. He hugged her back, relieved that she was home. "We have received some terrible news." Nathaniel held his mother at arms length and looked at her closely. She had tears in her eyes. Nathaniel had never seen his mother cry. 

"What happened? What is it?" Nathaniel was alarmed to see tears, and was close to panicking. Henreid came forward and bowed his head. "Mosaibe has been killed. The numbers of the Dead have been growing, and Tirylese fears that a Greater Dead spirit has returned." 

"How - ? Mosaibe has been here forever!" Nathaniel was shocked to hear of the death of the Abhorsen. Mosaibe had been Abhorsen since before Nathaniel was born. Tirylese had been the Abhorsen-in-waiting since Nathaniel was 13. "How is this possible? How did it happen?" Nathaniel plopped down onto a chair beside Faralie. 

"His sword. It was shattered, the Charter spells on it were overcome, and it broke." Henreid told him. "The Dead were too many, and the Abhorsen had no time to re-spell his blade in between attacks."

"But what about his bells? Did he not have them?" Faralie was astounded. 

"Kibeth was cracked, and Saraneth was missing. Mosaibe's left hand was hewed off. One can only assume that Saraneth was in it." The Queen said.

The Royal family was silent for a time while they considered this. 

"Where was Tirylese?"

"She was no more than a few leagues away, but arrived too late. She made the Dead army walk with her bells, but the damage had already been done."

Henreid, with a louder voice, continued, as if to try to bolster confidence and dispel any ill feelings, to get down to business, "These larger armies will need to be dealt with, immediately. We have many Mages, all who will be willing to fight. Shall we dispatch them, to aid the new Abhorsen, Mother?"

"We do have many Mages, son, but they don't have bells, or even pipes. We don't even have enough Charter spelled blades to arm them with." The Queen was dismayed. "I don't see how this will help. We cannot send them out unarmed, especially once they've heard of the Abhorsen's death. They will be frightened, and it would not be fair to ask them to do this." She sighed.

"We have many Mages, why could they not be used here in the city to spell the blades for those who go out to aid the new Abhorsen?" Faralie put in. 

Queen Lorileth smiled. "Perhaps. How many Charter Mages will spend hours working on one blade?" 

"If we have many Mages, it will not be a terribly long job." Faralie puffed up self importantly and declared that she would begin by spelling all of the swords and daggers, and that anyone who wished to join her or have her tutelage was more than welcome. The Queen turned to Henreid. "How many swords do we have in our armouries?" 

"Not many, I'm afraid, but I could order the blacksmiths forge only blades."

Nathaniel, silent until now, shouted, "No!" His mother, startled, said "Alright, Nathaniel, you may go to the blacksmiths, I'll need Henreid here…"

Nathaniel overrode her. "Let me make one."

Faralie's jaw dropped. "You? We know that you're pretty good at constructing things, but leave the swords to the blacksmiths. They know what they're doing."

  
Nathaniel ignored her, and pleaded with his mother. "I have an idea. If I can make it work… Just give me 36 hours. Today, tonight and tomorrow. After that, if it doesn't work, I'll go to the blacksmith's myself. Just until sunset tomorrow. Please let me try!"

Hearing the urgency in her son's voice, Queen Lorileth reluctantly agreed to 36 hours, much to Henreid's puzzlement and Faralie's dismay. Nathaniel dashed from the Royal Chamber and ran at full speed back to his workshop.


	2. Chapter 2 The Forging

Okay, sorry for the long wait between updates. Life's been full. 

Anyway, I forgot to put the little disclaimer thingy in front of my last chapter, so here ya go…

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Old Kingdom, the character titles (Clayr, Abhorsen etc.) or the whole Charter deal. They belong to Garth Nix. If you want to read a good story featuring these things, read _his_ books. I don't get any profit off of this fan fiction. Please don't sue me. I have very little.

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"Let us See!" A resounding yell inside of the Clayr's Observatory began the Watch. All eyes were drawn to the large ice dome that served as the ceiling as Charter Marks swirled and danced between each of the seven-hundred-and-sixty-eight people gathered there.

The Voice of the Watch stood in the center of the room and gazed at the combined visions of the Clayr. They were concentrating on the Abhorsen Mosaibe and his Abhorsen-in-waiting Tirylese. From the confines of the Glacier, they watched the Abhorsen as he approached a large forest, the River Ratterlin at his back. Through the vision, the stench of Free Magic burnt the noses and throats of some of the Clayr. From here the scene broke into many. These were the possible futures of the Abhorsen. In several, Mosaibe slayed many Dead. In others, Tirylese fought alongside him. In most, however, the vision ended with the death of the Abhorsen.

The Voice of the Watch witnessed his sword weakening, and shattering, over and over again in the many possible futures. The Dead attacked several times, blocking Mosaibe's access to the Ratterlin. The bells, rung so many times, pealed out only a few notes before a particularly large Shadow hand hewed at the left arm of the overcome and exhausted Abhorsen. The end was fast and Seen in most of the visions. Tirylese arrived only a few minutes too late.

The Voice of the Clayr's Watch then requested that their focus be shifted, to the more distant future; What sword will Tirylese be using? The Clayr stared at the ice above their heads, and observed the many pieces of the Sight that combined to make one whole vision. Weapons of many kinds flashed; curved blades, straight blades, double edged, with guards, without guards, ornate looking, utilitarian, rapier blades, broad swords, long blades, and daggers.

The one blade that the Clayr Saw most was a long blade, double edged, with a large guard, a hilt made with leather wrapped around it, and a spherical pommel of shining metal. Charter Marks, ones for breaking, strength, and many others, swam on it, and glittered around it. There were some very complex spells on this blade. The Clayr saw this blade most often in the hands of Tirylese, and many, many other, future Abhorsens.

Another blade that the Clayr Saw a lot of was a small blade, a double edged dagger. It was very plain-looking compared to the long blade that the Abhorsen would wield. There were Charter Marks surrounding it, some of the same ones that were on the Abhorsen's blade. It was in the hands of a young man. He looked at it, as if he was proud of it, but at the same time, respectful, almost frightened. In the Vision, it was always the same man, in front of a make shift stove. The Voice of the Watch was confused by this vision; he was obviously not an Abhorsen. Another request to the Clayr of the Watch, and their Sight shifted. This man was Seen in a workshop. Wearing grubby clothes, with dirty hands and face, working at a grindstone, it seemed he was very much a blacksmith. It was almost painful to see this man clean in the next vision. In formal wear. In the Royal Chambers. It was Prince Nathaniel. 

The Clayr silently filed out of the Observatory while the Voice stood still in the center, stunned. She bowed her head and told her nearest cousin to help her to arrange for a journey. Trembling slightly, she prepared herself for what she must tell the Queen. 

Nathaniel buried his head in his hands and sighed. What had he been thinking? He couldn't possibly build a sword. He had no experience in that sort of thing. Faralie was right. He should leave this to the people who know what they were doing. Nathaniel looked up at his desk. It was battered and scarred from many experiments in construction and the Charter. His little Charter-eating lizard sat upon it, looking at him, as if waiting for him to get started so he could have a meal. 

The lizard shimmered as it moved slightly. Nathaniel squinted at it. It was made of a wire sculpture and Charter marks. The wire was made with the Charter Marks, so that the Marks kept the shape of a lizard. Nathaniel had spent a few hours melting and re-shaping the metal into the thin-spun wire while investing it with the Charter. The metal was forged with the Charter. Nathaniel's jaw dropped. The lizard cocked his head and blinked his Charter Mark eyes. Nathaniel had almost forgotten that he'd done that. Could it be done with a sword? 

Nathaniel jumped out of his seat, the cushion falling to the floor. He ran to his bedside and unsheathed his dagger. He stared at the gleaming blade, at the Charter Marks swimming on the surface of it. Could he really fill it with the Charter, remake it with Magic? A few minutes of deliberation and hesitation took him as he stood beside his bed, looking at his dagger. One final decision, he placed it on his desk and began to make preparations for the re-forging.

"Mother, I do not understand what made you agree to letting him do this! We know that he's good at making things, but this is a matter of the Kingdom's well being and survival! Thirty-six hours… we could have all the smithies in the city forging for us by that time!"

"Yes, Faralie," Queen Lorileth said. She had since cleaned up and changed out of her travelling breeches and into a more formal wear suitable for the Palace. A golden circlet held her hair back from her face. She pushed a few stray strands back into it as she answered her only daughter. "Yes, I know what the blacksmiths are capable of. I know how fast they can be. Nathaniel - " She paused and considered her words. "Nathaniel is very good at making things. I believe that he really has a good idea, whatever it is. I trust him."

Faralie shook her head and asked her mother "May I go to the blacksmiths? Nathaniel can build whatever he pleases, but I think we should have the smiths begin to build, as well."

The Queen stared out the large window at the land of her Kingdom. The people of Belisaere were rushing about in their business, having not yet heard about the Abhorsen's death. Once they heard, the only place they would be rushing to was their homes, to shutter the windows and barricade the doors.

"Faralie…" The Queen stopped. This was pointless. "Yes. Go." She sighed. When Faralie reached the door, Lorileth stopped her with a question.

"Don't you trust him?"

Faralie lifted her head and strode out of the Palace. 

Yasmel, the Voice of the Clayr's Watch, rode farther and faster than she had ever before. The wind whipped at her fair blonde hair as she urged her horse faster. Travelling was usually a pleasure for Yasmel, but this journey away from the Glacier was not pleasant. The air was cool and the paths were perilous. The horse was not one that she rode often, and was temperamental and uncooperative. Hauling on the reins, Yasmel pulled the horse to a halt and surveyed her surroundings. The meadow she was in was not very large; she would reach the forest again soon. The sun would be setting in a few hours, and she did not want to be out in the dark. She hoped to reach Belisaere soon. She could hear the River on her left, and, faintly, she could hear the sounds of people, of the city up ahead. Pressing her horse faster, she rode for another hour before seeing the grand walls of the city of Belisaere.

Pulling the dagger out of the fire, Nathaniel quickly grabbed his hammer and began working to draw the metal out, making it longer with each fall of his hammer. The steady beat of the hammer and anvil lulled him, driving his fears away. Almost in a trance, Nathaniel beat upon the metal until it had the length he wanted. The metal was still hot when he began to spell it, first casting warming spells to keep the metal hot while he worked on it. Charter Marks flew through his hands and hammer as he pulled marks for shearing and breaking, for strength, and for light weight, out of the Charter. They flowed very easily into the dagger as the hammer fell. They seemed to soak into the metal, as the dagger was shaped. The final marks sunk in, and Nathaniel thrust the newly shaped blade back into the forge to re-heat. Once the blade was hot enough again, he pulled it back out of the fire to let it air cool to make the grain of the metal uniform and stronger. He heated the dagger again, but this time more slowly. Immediately after the blade was hot enough, Nathaniel thrust the blade into a barrel of oil to quench it. While the blade was being quenched, he adjusted the heat in his forge to a cooler temperature. Once the dagger was cooled from the oil, Nathaniel heated the blade again in the forge, but gradually, to temper it to the proper hardness. This whole process took many hours, and Nathaniel was nearing exhaustion. He was full of coal soot from the forge and sweat from the hard exertion it took to hammer out the blade. He didn't believe that the Charter would work when immersed in metal, and forged and shaped. He hoped that this wasn't for nothing. He wiped his face, but found that his hands were so dirty that it did no good. He shrugged his shoulders and went back to his forge to get his newly made dagger ready for grinding and sharpening.

"Your Majesty." Yasmel, Daughter of the Clayr, Voice of the Watch, knelt before her Queen, who smiled at her. 

"Please, one who has traveled so far in these perilous times just to bring me news need not kneel, for you have shown your loyalty! Tell me your name."

"I am Yasmel, a Daughter of the Clayr." She lifted her head, and looked at the Queen. "I am sorry, Your Majesty, but it is not good news that I have tidings of. The Abhorsen has been slain, and the Abhorsen in waiting has no sword. According to our Vision, this happened two days ago, while I was riding. I am sure you know of this, by now."

Queen Lorileth bowed her head and nodded. "Yes. We have received news of this. Where were you riding from? Why could this not have been averted?"

"I am sorry, Your Majesty, but all of our riders were not reachable. I was riding from the Glacier, and the Abhorsen was slain in the South. Even our Message-Hawks could not have reached anyone in time to save Mosaibe. But it is not of the Abhorsen that I have news of. It is news of the Abhorsen's sword. Mosaibe's sword was shattered in the battle, so the Clayr have focussed on the sword the future Abhorsen's will be wielding. It is a long blade, a double-edged sword, a beautiful but deadly weapon, wrought with skill and with the Charter. No bladesmith has ever done anything like it, and few ever will. We also witnessed the person who would forge this blade."

Lorileth, stunned, stared at the slight woman in front of her. "No. It can't be."

Yasmel looked at the hem of her robe, tattered and dirty from her long ride. Softly, she answered the Queen, "It was your son; Prince Nathaniel."

Charter Marks flashed as Prince Nathaniel brought the completed dagger down on his workbench. It easily sliced through the hard wood surface. Nathaniel looked at it, at the new hilt and pommel, it wasn't the prettiest dagger, but it was now the strongest. A flicker of fear passed on his face. How did he do this? Why couldn't anyone else? He peered out the window at the sun set. He had now only a night and a day left. He really should go down to the armouries to get a full-length blade and get started on it. He decided to go to the kitchens first and get something to eat. He was starving.

He slipped the dagger back into its sheath and looped the belt around his waist before starting out of his room. He trotted up the many stairs and down several long halls to reach the kitchens, where he collected a few apples, which he promptly ate, core and all. A loaf of bread and a plate of cold meats (he assumed that they were left over from supper), and two more apples was all he took with him when he went back to his room. Starting down the hallway, he heard his mother in one of the side rooms. He kept walking, not wanting to overhear anything, when suddenly the door opened. His mother jumped back, surprised that anyone was there.

"Nathaniel!" Queen Lorileth tried to regain her composure quickly, and that told Nathaniel that she was not alone. Wondering who her company was, Nathaniel greeted his mother and apologized for his filthy appearance. The Queen smiled and held his hands as she asked how his work was going. Nathaniel, pleased as always by his mother's attention, showed her his new dagger. She turned and showed it to her company, who Nathaniel now saw was a thin blonde woman, who was wearing robes emblazoned with seven-pointed stars. This must be a Clayr. She smiled at him and took the dagger into her small hands with reverence.

"Your Highness, on behalf of my sisters the Clayr, and of the Kingdom, I beg you to forge a new blade for the Abhorsen." She knelt before him after handing back his dagger.

Nathaniel staggered back. The Clayr looked at him imploringly. "We have Seen your work in the hands of Tirylese and in many other Abhorsen's. Please." She stared back at the ground, awaiting his answer.

"I was…" Nathaniel stuttered, lost for words. "I was just on my way back to do so. The Abhorsen will have a new blade very soon. One that will never have to be re-spelled. I… I will make it." Nathaniel, only an amateur bladesmith, was now in charge of the forging of the most important blade in the Kingdom. He could not believe it. He walked very slowly back to his room, his workshop, and put more coal into the forge and lit it. The little Charter-sending lizard watched him, it's tongue flicking in and out as it ate Charter Marks off of the floor. It blinked it's tiny sparkling eyes and went back to it's meal, unaware of the turmoil outside as the citizens of Belisaere learned of the Abhorsen's death. Nathaniel was unaware of the Charter-made lizard, and concentrated solely on the new Blade.

Alright! What do ya think? Please R&R! There'll be more coming up…

The facts on Bladesmithing I got at a few great sites : How Stuff Works is an awesome site, that's where I got most of my info on blacksmithing and bladesmithing. (It's also got a lot of other neat facts on "How Stuff Works." Check it out if you're interested! (No, I'm not affiliated with them!))


	3. Chapter 3 Belisaere & Recovery

The Abhorsen's Sword by The Wallmaker 

Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: This plot is my own, the characters are my own, but titles, most locations, and Charter Magic are not mine. I do not own the Old Kingdom or anything related. Everything belongs to Garth Nix. This is simply a fan fiction, and no profit is being made off of this short story. "Imitation is the best expression of flattery." So there.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Carmerethiel and to Narn for reviewing! 

Narn… I meant that the bits of _wire_ hit the floor with a "tink" sound. It was a bit unclear the way I wrote it, it did sound like I was saying that the Charter Marks made the sound. But I thank you for that bit of criticism. 

Thanks so much to the both of you for your reviews. It's so encouraging! I hope you enjoy the rest of this fic! (Don't know when it will be done, but hey, an update is good, right?)

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Nathaniel laboured for several hours to fashion the new blade for the Abhorsen. His room was covered in soot from the coal forge, he was covered in it, and the woman Yasmel was covered in it, for she brought the blade from the Palace's armouries and stayed to watch the process. 

She murmured in fascination at times, astounded by Nathaniel's absurd, but effective way of casting Charter Magic. His hands moved more differently than anyone she had ever seen, and he pronounced Marks differently, as well. Yasmel observed the entire process, and near the end of it, she was getting weary. She didn't know how this young man could sit there for hours on end, shaping a blade without getting tired.

Nathaniel, in fact, was barely present. Almost in a trance, he cast half-known Charter Marks. They flew out of his hammer and bounced on the anvil as he shaped the steel. They seemed to soak into the red hot metal as he murmered their names. The Charter filled his mind; he forgot that a Daughter of the Clayr was watching him as he shaped the metal and cast spells for sharpness, for strength and for breaking. He brought the blade over to the grindstone to sharpen it, one of the final steps. Sparks and Charter Marks flew from the blade as the stone ground it to a sharp edge. Charter Marks swam and shone on the blade, and Nathaniel sliced the inside of his arm and let the blood run down the furrow in the blade's centre, where it absorbed into the metal. Yasmel jumped as the blade bit Nathaniel's arm, but realized what he needed to do that for. It was a large blade, and much Charter Magic was worked on it. A price had to be paid for it's creation.

The Charter faded from his mind as Nathaniel, at last, wrapped the hilt with leather and capped the sword with a pommel of metal, which he polished to a gleam with a spell issued from his cupped hand. He handed the sword to the Clayr sitting on his bed, and promptly fainted. He did not come to until the morning.

Queen Lorileth studied the plain-looking dagger. It was not recognizable as the one that she had given her son a few years before. Charter Marks shimmered as she sheathed it. She loaded it into her pack and started into the city of Belisaere, to see the blacksmiths. 

The official announcement of the night before about the Abhorsen's death put the city and the countryside into a panic. Windows were shuttered, and doors were barred. Merchants had taken their goods inside, and shored up their booths. Only furious knocking and a declaration by the Royal Guards that the Queen was here would have people upen up their doors; but the only doors they knocked on were those of the blacksmiths.

The blacksmiths, having already been visited by Faralie, had half an idea of what was going on, and when Queen Lorileth showed them Nathaniel's dagger, they agreed to try. Only one blacksmith was completely honest with the Queen. He told her in a quiet voice that he had never seen such a blade, and would be completely astounded if he could wrought something of such magic and power. He told her that he would try his hardest, but wasn't sure if he could even come close. Queen Lorileth thanked him for his services and paid him very highly, as she did with all of the other blacksmiths. 

Walking through the barren streets, she pondered her son and his abilities. The people who were known as the Wallmakers, people of the Blood, had not been gone for all that long, five generations ago were the last ones that the Queen knew about from stories and tales from her parents and their parents. As she thought about Nathaniel, she felt the spells in the dagger's blade. Advanced Charter Magic. Lorileth didn't know if she could cast these without harming herself. She put the dagger back into her bag, 

The blacksmiths in the great city of Belisaere laboured for many hours, attempting to make a blade with Charter Magic. Only one succeeded, but it took him two days, and the Master Charter Marks burnt his hammer and his hands as they were spelled into the blade. When he was done, the blade was a mess, his hands were damaged and he was completely exhausted, and it took weeks for him to be nursed back to health. 

Yasmel poured the contents of a small vial out in front of her, and with a wave of her hand, Charter Marks glimmered and the liquid froze into a sheet that hung in the air. She sat on the foot of Nathaniel's bed. Nathaniel was sprawled out in it, sleeping deeply. One of the nurses from the infirmary checked in on him every few moments, quietly doing her duty and then receeding to the corner of the room where she pretended that she wasn't paying any attention to the white-robed Daughter of the Clayr sitting on her charge's bed. Yasmel ignored her, for she was intent on Seeing her possible futures. She wanted to remain with Nathaniel when he delivered the blade to the Abhorsen, but the possible futures springing from that might not be desirable. So she watched, her eyes staring only at the sheet of ice that the nurse could not see anything on. 

In the Vision, Yasmel watched herself remain with Nathaniel, for if she didn't, the blade would never be delivered to the Abhorsen. But Yasmel noticed that though the swords they were using were like the Abhorsen's, the one made for Tirylese was in a scabbard hung on Nathaniel's back. Two more blades would be required. As the vision faded from Yasmel's pane of ice, she hung her head. Two more swords! Nathaniel was exhausted from the first! As she shook her head in dismay, the nurse, long forgotten in the corner of the room, stood up suddenly. As the nurse came towards the bed, Yasmel noticed the the covers were shifting and that Nathaniel was slowly waking up. Yasmel stood and watched as the prince pushed the covers back and reached for the crystal pitcher of water on the bedside table. He poured himself a glass of water before he remembered that there were two strange women in his bedroom and that he was nearly naked. Looking down at himself, he was very glad to see that he hadn't pushed the covers down very far. Sighing in relief, he looked up at Yasmel, who he was surprised to see was not well. She was pale, and seemed reluctant to look at him. 

"What is it?" Nathaniel asked, as he tried to politely push the over-attentive nurse away.

Yasmel was slow to answer him. She looked at the frustrated nurse who was trying to force a shirt onto an unco-operative Nathaniel. "I Saw a part of our future. We must ride through the Kingdom to deliver the blade. I cannot See where the Abhorsen will be at that time, but we must leave here soon. But, before we do…" she stopped and looked at Nathaniel before continuing, "two more of your Charter Spelled blades must be made. One for each of us. I am sorry." Yasmel finished off in a whisper and glanced up at Nathaniel.

Nathaniels first impulse was to tell this Clayr that her Sight must be wrong, because there wasn't any way that he could do this. It was simply not possible. He stopped himself, and thought for a moment with his hands steepled under his chin. He sighed and let the nurse put the shirt on him. "All right. I'll get started. I'll need help. Get some Charter Mages. They can help me while I forge the blades." He looked at the Daughter of the Clayr that was standing at the foot of his bed, utterly amazed. He himself couldn't believe that he was saying this. He got up, unmindful that he was nearly naked, and pulled his pants on before pouring more coal into the forge and lighting it.

"Yasmel, please get for me two blades from the armouries." Nathaniel turned to the nurse and dismissed her after thanking her for her services. She bowed curtly and left the prince alone in his workshop. He buried his head in his hands, and hoped to the Charter that this turned out all right.

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Please be nice and review!!! I'm a feedback junkie! Tell me I'm good. Please?


	4. Chapter 4 The River & Starting Out

The Abhorsen's Sword 

Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Old Kingdom, Charter Magic or many of the titles and place names. They all belong to the brilliant mind of GARTH NIX!!! Read his books! They're good!

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Mosaibe hung on. The river swirled around his legs, cool and inviting, tempting but not hurrying. Mosaibe knew he could not hang on much longer.

Tirylese cradled her uncle and mentor's head and wept briefly. She peered around the glade, reaching out with her death sense. Nothing. Only her uncle's death was felt, harsh and biting. She groped for death and stepped into the river. Removing faithful Kibeth from its pouch, she walked alone in the First District.

She searched the shallow river for a while before finding him. Mosaibe was very pale, almost snow white. His brown eyes peered questioningly at her.

"Tirylese? What happened?" He asked weakly as Tirylese bit back a sob. "Weren't we heading up to the Clayr's Glacier?"

Tirylese shook her head. "Uncle, that was days ago. The Dead, they…" she stopped and collected herself. "They attacked. You had gone to find out why the Dead armies were growing. You went to Albalef. Do you remember finding anything?"

Mosaibe shook his head, brown eyes blank.

Tirylese opened the pouch of Belager, the thinker. Mosaibe had been in the river too long. Very carefully and deliberately, she poured her will into the one chime she pealed out, enough to restore Mosaibe's memory. He began to speak quickly in a monotone, describing the time after they left the Clayr's Glacier. He re-spelled his sword and went to find the source of the Free Magic. "I went to Albalef and slayed many Dead. There were many Free Magic creatures. Hish, Jakomes, Stilken, Mordicants. The Charter in my sword was being eroded. There were too many. I ran. Back to Estel. Tirylese was to be there. The both of us with our bells may have worked. She wasn't there. The Dead army followed me. My sword broke. My arm was hurt." Mosaibe looked at his arm and seemed surprised to see it intact. "I died."

Tirylese wiped tears from her face and whispered "Oh, I am so sorry."

Mosaibe smiled weakly at his niece. "It is not your fault. Never think that. I love you."

Tirylese stepped back and swung Kibeth in a "J" pattern and ordered Mosaibe to walk beyond the Ninth without being afraid. 

"Thank-you, Abhorsen." He began to walk. Very soon, he was gone.

Tirylese wiped her face again and reached for the warm brilliance of Life. As she came back, she could still hear the falls of the First Gate in her mind, the soft rushing of water, ever falling like the hot tears that ran down her face and bounced off of her blue surcoat.

Slowly, Nathaniel made his way to the swift creek that ran through the trees, winding its way to one of the tributaries of the River Ratterlin. The soft burble of water was the only sound besides the crunch of the pine needles under his and Yasmel's feet and the _chip-chirrup _of the small song birds in the trees. Nathaniel stopped at a large tree and looked for Yasmel behind him. She was picking her way through the smaller bushes that seemed to want to block their way. She stood at his side and looked up and down the creek. There was no one and nothing in sight. The sun was just disappearing behind the horizon of trees. The twilight was setting in. 

Sloshing into the small creek, they followed it downstream until it was large enough to set up a Diamond of Protection in. Neither of them could smell Free Magic or sense any kind of Dead, but they prepared to cast a Diamond anyway. Golden light burst as Yasmel spoke the Northmark, and pointed with her sword, which glowed with a brightness she had never seen. Nathaniel spoke the Southmark and the Eastmark, and Yasmel finished the Diamond with the West. Sitting down on the pebbly bottom of the creek, Nathaniel looked at the corners of the Diamond. They glowed, and the walls shimmered with Charter Marks. Nathaniel was exhausted, but this was the strongest Diamond he had ever cast. He leaned back on a rock jutting out of the water and closed his eyes, enjoying the cool water.

Nathaniel staggered as he completed the sword for Yasmel. The double-edged blade had just been ground, the hilt wrapped with wire, and the pommel of green stone polished with a Charter Spell. Yasmel let him lean on her until he recovered enough to stand on his own. Gasping, he made his way across his workshop to a stool.

"I can't do this, Yasmel." He gasped, straining for air. His throat hurt and his muscles were getting sore from hefting his hammers. 

Yasmel set her new sword down. She was amazed at how light and easy to hold the sword was. Kneeling in front of Nathaniel, she began to weave a spell with her small fingers. She spent many minutes plucking Marks out of the Charter, connecting them together, and fastening them. Drawing on all of her knowledge of the Charter, she cast a spell of renewal, strength and healing. Nathaniel glimmered with Charter Marks, and soon he was able to stand up and make preparations for the next sword. 

"Before you start, rest." Yasmel sat him back down after the preparations were made. She left him there to watch the forge heat up, and the little Charter eating lizard feast on the unused Charter Marks. His shoulders weren't sore anymore, and he felt he was able speak a Charter Spell again. Yasmel was talented. She returned a short time later with Nathaniel's family. His father stood in the corner of the room, speechlessly staring around at the bladesmithing forge and anvil. Faralie was also quiet, her eyes were downcast. Queen Lorileth held the Abhorsen's sword, examining it. Henreid smiled at his younger brother, and began to weave another renewal and sustainment spell. Nathaniel stood up and took the plain sword from the armouries that Yasmel handed to him. Thrusting it into the forge, he reached for his hammer as Henreid cast the first of many strength spells.

Faralie began to entwine complementary Charter Marks into Henreid's spell, harmonizing with it, strengthening it. Marks for revitalization and repair, for concentration and potency; all woven into one golden strand that split into many as it settled onto Nathaniel's head and arms. The hammer pounded the metal in a seemingly unending rhythm, broken only by the roar of the forge and the hiss of the quenching tank. Nathaniel did not notice when his parents began their spells. All he saw was the Charter, until the blade was nearing completion several hours later. The Charter began to fade form Nathaniel's tired mind, and his fatigued body was beginning to give out. He was checking the heat in the forge, and readying the barrel of oil when he swayed. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths. Henreid steadied his brother and took the sword from him. The prince plunged the sword into the quenching tank, the hiss filling the room. "Thank-you," Nathaniel murmured, knowing that if the blade hadn't been quenched at the right time, the whole process would have been for nothing. He regained his strength as Yasmel wove another sustainment spell, and Nathaniel was able to temper and complete the blade.

Sorry this Chapter was so short. Life has been busy, other stories have demanded my attention. Please review, I'll be updating soon!


	5. Chapter 5 Gleaming Eyes in the Dark

The Abhorsen's Sword Chapter 5

Charter Marks flared as the newly forged broad sword hewed through Dead flesh. Yasmel's Charter Mark glowed in response to the Free Magic in the air, and the stench of it made her head spin, her nose burn and her body reel. She never was much good in her Fighting Skills class in the Glacier. She never really thought that she would need it. The Glacier was so well protected. As she sliced through a Dead Hands torso, her new sword flashed. The Charter's natural repulsion of Free Magic made the Marks in her blade blaze into life, and the Mark on her forehead tingle. 

  
The last Dead Hand fell at Nathaniel's final stroke. There had been only a dozen Hands, and now Yasmel was frightened. These Dead Hands had been set here to watch.

Nathaniel and Yasmel had moved to journeying on land when the creek they were following suddenly gave way to dams, and the terrifying odour of Free Magic. Yasmel caught Sight of bodies choking the creek in a fragment of a vision a few miles before they came to the first dam, but she said nothing to Nathaniel, hoping it was only a possible future. It hadn't been. They had turned back and made for the meadow they had crossed. Heading south-west, through the forest, finally to the edge of the woods. Fewer and fewer trees, and finally prairies. The plains were nearly uninterrupted for many leagues. Crossing the grasslands South, there was no sight of the Abhorsen. Thankfully there was no sign of any of the Dead, either.

Nathaniel was quiet, and Yasmel understood. She did not really expect this to be a real adventure, she would have never expected to be in the midst of this journey, though she had Seen it. Yasmel was sure that Nathaniel felt the same way. "Are you alright?"

Nathaniel jumped, startled out of his reverie. "Hmm? Yes, I'm alright." He said, rather defensively. The wind gusted and pulled at his shirt, knocking the Abhorsen's sword about, setting it's scabbard thumping against his pack. "I'm fine."

Yasmel pushed her hair back out of her face and nodded. "Fine." She continued walking and nothing more was said at all that day until nightfall when the Diamond of Protection was cast.

Tirylese was tired. Her Diamond was not the best she had ever cast, but she thought it would hold. The Eastmark was wavering, but it was the most she could do tonight. The stench of Free Magic hung about, and Death was very easily reached here. She had spent the day near Estel. She had cremated her uncle's body, and stayed near-by. The doorway to Death was gaping here in the place where so many had been slain. She needed to remain until she was sure that nothing was going to find the doorway to Life. A few creatures did, but they were weak, and soon taken care of. 

Tirylese sat on the stony ground and plucked at a few scant blades of grass that grew in between the stones. She was still weeping. One of the voices inside of her urged her to go on, to get a handle on herself. Another voice argued that it was useless, and she was useless, for a real Abhorsen would not have tarried, delaying her arrival in Estel, and causing her uncle's death. The third voice was not her own, it belonged to her uncle. It said simply, over and over and over that there were too many Free Magic creatures and that he ran. 

"I could have saved him. I should have been there." She berated her self. 

"It doesn't matter! Re-spell your sword, and get moving!" The voice yelled.

"I ran. Back to Estel." Uncle Mosaibe's voice said slowly.

"I should have been there."

So involved in her scolding and self-pity, Tirylese did not notice the two shining eyes creeping closer. Silently, without stirring any of the loose stones underneath, the creature crept closer to the wavering Charter Diamond. The Corner closest to it was dim, and slowly getting dimmer. Long claws and teeth glistened, and a sick sort of intelligence gleamed in its shining eyes. It could feel the repulsiveness of the Charter, and was drawn to it to destroy. Slinking slowly closer, it could see the bells that hung on the chest of the Charter-marked woman. The Abhorsen-in-waiting! A slight hesitation, but perceiving her distraction and inattention, it leapt at the Eastmark, tearing and shredding at the Charter swirling around it.

Tirylese jumped at the burst of light, and drew her sword. Whirling around, she witnessed her Diamond being massacred by a large being that was darker than the night sky beyond. A shriek escaped her, and she wondered if it was terror or a battle cry as she raised her sword. The Diamond broke with a flash and she was set upon by a thing of fury, hunger and power. It slashed at her as she parried with her sword. The beast fought wildly, famished for a strong life. Tirylese ducked its long claws and thrust with her sword. Metal met flesh, and the thing screamed at her in fury, and it leapt again. Tirylese strained and struck at it with her sword. Charter Marks fizzled in the stench of Free Magic, and Tirylese moaned. This creature was strong. It backed up slightly, snarled, and slowly rounded the small woman. It sprang again, and Tirylese hurriedly fumbled with her bandolier, reaching for Saraneth, and was knocked to the stony ground by the creature, it's hot breath steaming onto her face. She strained and reached her bells, her fingers finding Ranna. She rang it as hard as she could. The creature swayed and dropped onto her, numb. She sighed and groped for Saraneth. Ringing it in the dependable "s" motion, she awoke the creature and sent it beyond the Ninth Gate. Trembling, weeping and weak, she rolled over on the rocks and threw up. She had a few cuts, but nothing major. She looked at her sword, and was dismayed to see the Charter Marks were faint, much dimmer than they were earlier. Once she recovered, she would have to re-spell her sword. She held back a sob and tried to plan out how best to get back to the Abhorsen's house and recover before finding the Free Magic creatures that lurked near Albalef. Re-sheathing her bell, she stood and began to walk east, towards her house, forcing herself to remain silent, ignoring the sobs welling in her throat.


	6. Chapter 55 A stay at the House

Chapter 5 . 5

DISCLAIMER: The Old Kingdom and all of the Charter Magic concepts belong to Garth Nix. So does Mogget. The other characters are mine, (woo hoo.)

"Do you have a hold of it?"

"Yes." A small voice says, and small hands hold the bell. The metal glittered and the beautiful wood handle sparkled.

"Do not ring it. You know that these bells must never be played with as toys."

"Yes, Uncle." The tiny girl, no more than six years old, looked up at her parent with large brown eyes. "I know that they are very important." The small girl holds the bell reverently. The feel of the cool metal bell and its smooth handle in the six-year-olds hand is thrilling. It is scary, but it is also exhilarating. The Charter in the bell makes her fingers and the special mark on her forehead tingle.

"What does this bell do? This is Ranna." Uncle asks.

"It's the sleepy bell!" Tirylese laughs. Ranna is her favorite. She knows all six of the bells that Uncle has taught her. Uncle says that she will wait until she is older to learn about the biggest bell. She is too little right now.

She studies the bell, then sets it on the polished brown table in front of her. She is in her Uncle's house. She is happy here. She is safe here. She hears the birds chirp in the orchard outside, and looks at the sunshine coming through the big windows. She feels her uncle's warm hand on her shoulder.

The birds are chirping in the orchard, outside of the dining room windows, and Tirylese sits at the dining room table, feeling it's polished wood surface under her arms. She stares at it. The sendings are gathered at the door leading from the kitchen. They wait for instructions, but none are forthcoming. The Abhorsen is silent.

Rising suddenly, after hours of meditation, Tirylese unsheathes her sword, and begins to Charter-spell its gleaming blade. Dinner is set, and Tirylese eats, not realizing how hungry she's been. After the meal, she sits in the library, studying maps, books of lore and bestiaries. Grieving will not accomplish anything. The sendings are ordered to re-pack her goods. She prepares for a journey. Rage and hatred might accomplish something. 

"Where are you off to now, Abhorsen?"

Tirylese bites back a scream, and whirls around. The cat sits there, staring at her. Her shoulders drop. She had forgotten about her servant. The cat seems to smile, Tirylese notices.

"I'm going to Albalef. There are many Free Magic creatures there."

"Mmm. You're going alone?" A smug little purr.

Tirylese looks at her sword, at the shining Charter Marks, before sliding it into the scabbard. "Yes. I'm going alone." She picks up the rolled map, and places a few books into her bag. One of the bestiaries she leaves out. The page is open to the entry "Jakomes". "Hish" is marked with a slip of parchment sticking out at the top of the volume. The cat-like creature sits there, on the end of the table, looking rather smug for a cat. Tirylese resists the urge to pick him up and shake him. He begins to purr. 

Tirylese unclenches her fists and secures the end of her bag, the oilskin tied with strips of leather. She goes to the landing and slides the oilskin into her pack, which was more than sufficiently loaded by the thoughtful sendings. She arranges the worn blue surcoat on her shoulders and hefts the pack before putting it on. The cat-like servant entwines around her feet, nearly tripping her as she moves. 

"Abhorsen," it purrs, "Remember to re-spell your sword when ever you stop." The arrogant little cat settles on its haunches. "I wouldn't want to see anything happen to you…" Tirylese did not restrain herself, and landed a kick at the cat's behind before setting out across the stepping stones. 

A/N: Alright, sorry, but I _will_ get back to Nathaniel and Yasmel soon (next chap.) Writer's block has kept me from writing any action or battle scenes, (think I'll go rent some Stallone, Gibson or Chan films…). 

I do like Mogget, but the idea of him getting a boot in the behind was too good to resist!

This is titled Chapter 5.5 simply because when I would title it Chapter 6 my computer would eat it. Poof, gone! (Three times, AARGH!!! Dang computer…)

Please be nice and review! Please?


	7. Chapter 7 Belisaere Riders and Worked W...

Chapter 7

A/N: I've simply changed a few grammatical mistakes (Hi, Narn), and added a bit to that insuffiently described battle scene at the end. I'm off on vacation for a week and a half, so you're gonna have to wait for Chapter 8. (It'll be here soon, but not that soon!)

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Riders. Clothed in typical Belisaere style, their banners the red and gold of the Royal Family, emblazoned with a golden tower, the symbol of the Palace. Their helms and shields sparkling, each carry a long sword. Leaving the gates at Belisaere, they ride west.

The vision was muddled, and it had a dream-like quality. When-? Tomorrow? Yesterday? Three weeks from now? Next year!? Yasmel buried her head in her hands, trying desperately to get the vision back, attempting to block out the sounds of the River and the sights of the woods. Nathaniel stirred while waking up, and the vision was lost entirely. She groaned, and Nathaniel jumped, snapping fully awake.

"What?" He pushed his small blanket down from his face, and sat up. "What is it?" He peered around at the trees.

"The Sight," Yasmel sighed. "A Vision, of soldiers riding to the Ratterlin. But it was only a glimpse. I do not know when" she paused, "or _if _it will happen."

"Oh." Nathaniel, unsure of how to respond, crossed his legs, and waited for her to say something else. Yasmel was silent for a time. "Only the Clayr together can See an event. And sometimes, even all of us together cannot determine when it is going to happen." She said finally.

"Oh." Nathaniel said again. He fidgeted around before opening his pack and doling out dried fruit and bread for breakfast. "I will be so happy to get to the Abhorsen's House, if only to get some real food. I have been craving pan-fried cakes. With berries. _Fresh_ berries!" Nathaniel stared up at the heavy clouds, and imagined all of the good things that would be served when he got back to the Palace, or what he might request at Abhorsen's house. He was brought out of his fanciful imaginings by fat, cold drops of rain on his upturned face. 

Yasmel peered upward at the rain clouds with narrowed eyes. "This is not usual."

Nathaniel's nostrils flared as the slight scent of Free Magic hit his nose. "No," He agreed, "This weather has been worked." The odour of forbidden Free Magic was hardly there, but it was there nonetheless. He loosed his sword in its sheath, so it would be easier to draw when it was needed. Gathering the packs, and stuffing the hunk of stale bread in her mouth, Yasmel rose to her feet. "The smell is still faint. Shall we keep pressing south?" Lightening flashed, a white fork in the sky. Yasmel flinched, but recovered without Nathaniel noticing any movement. The rain fell, driven by the growing wind into their faces as the two struggled to shrug their packs on. Very soon, both were soaked right through. 

Walking quickly, the travelers left behind the Lesser Sickle Wood, and picking up momentum, they ran three miles to the city of Qyrre. The rain had lessened and they decided to rest for a short time in the beautiful city center. Nathaniel wrung out his hair and tied it back again using a leather strap. Yasmel squeezed the water out of her long sleeves, and shook her head from side to side, sending rain water flying. Nathaniel shuddered at her uncouth behavior, but smiled when he reminded himself that they were far from Belisaere. He gazed around at the sodden city, suddenly realizing that the wind had changed; it was blowing from the south now. And he could still smell Free Magic. The city was surrounded.

Henreid, Prince of the Old Kingdom, Charter Mage, and brother to Princess Faralie (Head Magistrix of the Academy of Belisaere) and Prince Nathaniel (builder of various items, including toys and swords), stared down from Smoky, his stallion, at the soldiers that he was leading out of the Belisaere gates. His helm caught the sunshine and it glinted, dazzling the eyes of the folks who had come to see them off with their best wishes. Henreid did not notice the sun. He stared south, at the clouds building. Henried's duty was not to lead his troops all the way south, but to leave them to the competent command of Sarqin, the Captain of the Royal Guard. Henreid was bound for the Glacier that housed the Daughters of the Clayr. He would lead the company west to the River Ratterlin. There, they would part ways; the troops, (now armed with Charter Spelled blades, and newly learned battle Charter Marks), would go south, Prince Henreid north.

"Welcome, Your Highness. We Saw you coming to us." Qatryn, Daughter of the Clayr, bowed to Henreid when he had dismounted Smoky at the origin of the Ratterlin and the base of the Glacier. Water crashed around them, and Henreid was led inside. He had only visited the Clayr's Glacier once, and that was when he was very young. He was amazed then at the majesty of the great halls, and he was amazed now as he stared around. There were many Clayr, women and men, in the warm hallways. Henreid was led to one of the smaller rooms that were reserved for greeting guests, and holding gatherings.

"I do not think that we have much time, Your Highness. You seek information about Tirylese and the growing threat to the Kingdom." Qatryn twined her fingers on her knee and looked at Henreid. "You have been witnessed leading your company south, in the most favourable futures that the Clayr have seen. The company _must_ get to Albalef. Eight days ago, Abhorsen Mosaibe sat where you sit at this moment, asking our advice, as you do now. Free Magic beings are terrorizing the area around Albalef. They are slowly spreading, gaining strength as they sate their hunger in the towns in the South. They will soon be at Estel. _You_ must lead your troops south." Qatryn stared hard at Henreid, her ice-blue eyes boring into him, impressing him with their intensity. He nodded.

As Henreid rose to take his leave, he asked if the Nine Day Watch had Seen Nathaniel. Qatryn shook her head. "We have tried, but we have been focussing mainly on the Abhorsen and on the Free Magic creatures." The Daughter of the Clayr assured the Prince that she and her cousins would send word to the Palace if Nathaniel or Yasmel were Seen in the Clayr's Visions.

Thanking her, Henreid made his way back to the path leading to the front of the Glacier. Smoky, re-saddled and watered, stood awaiting him with a small party to see them off. As Henreid mounted his stallion, he said softly "We're heading south today, Smoky." He patted the horse's neck, then nodded to the few Clayr who had tarried around the Glacier entrance to bid him farewell.

"Where now?" The stench of Free Magic grew in their noses. "Should we keep on going south? Along the river?" Nathaniel glanced about the city center. The residents had gone home in a hurry, leaving the usually bustling park as silent as a crypt. Nathaniel shivered as that likeness rose in his mind, thinking, "It soon will be."

Yasmel felt for the Charter, letting her mind dabble in it, as her fingers dabble in a warm stream on a cool day. It was comforting, more so than the blade in her hand. Only half-present, she answered Nathaniel. "Let's go to the Ratterlin." 

As they began to trek through the city's winding streets, they were assaulted by the reek of Free Magic, and laid into by several Dead Hands, who shambled in from all directions. With a flash of golden light, Charter Marks gushing from Yasmel's fingers ignited the three closest Dead hands, while Nathaniel struck at the others with his broad sword. Yasmel joined in the fray, her blade flying through the Dead like a hot wire through wax. Shrieks of fear from the Dead, battle cries from the Prince and shouts of Charter magic from the Daughter of the Clayr filled the normally calm courtyard. Lightening flashed and the wind howled in the trees and between the roof-tops. The rain, which had slowed a bit, now picked up, soaking the cobblestone streets, making movement hazardous.

Panting, Nathaniel wished that Tirylese were here. They had no pipes or bells, and the onslaught was continuous. He yelled to Yasmel to make for the river. Slowly working their way west, they managed to reach the wharf of Qyrre without injury. The Dead, sensing their loss, redoubled their efforts. Pushing from all sides, the Dead struggled, the ones in front falling to the sword strokes, more arriving to take the fallen's place. The wood of the docks was slimy wet with the rain and the large waves brought up by the wind. Pulling her sword out of a particularly large Hand, Yasmel stumbled, overbalanced, and hit the sodden pier. The Dead were upon her in an instant. 

Nathaniel turned at her yell, and watched the knot of Dead flesh converge on his friend. He clutched at the Charter, wrenching Marks out furiously. His head hurt with the effort and amount of Marks there. They leaked out of his eyes, like glittering tears, before he released them at the Dead. He shouted the blasting Mark, followed by a spell for protection of Yasmel, which settled around her huddled form like a golden blanket. Screaming Marks for fire, Nathaniel drew with his fingers in the air the spell for throwing blades, which materialized in his hands. They, for the most part, struck the Dead, who burst apart in explosions of sparks. Bits of flesh fell onto Yasmel's curled body. Nathaniel yelled as he ran to aid her to her feet, but she had already seen more of the Dead shuffling towards her, and she struggled to her feet, blood pouring out of her nose and seeping through the sleeves of her surcoat. Staggering forward, she dodged as Nathaniel drew another Charter Mark in the air, and more throwing blades filled his hands. He flung them at the Dead. Most hit home, but a few of the spell daggers went awry and hit one of the struts that held the wharf steady. The dock took a lurch with the wind and waves, and threw some of the Dead into the Ratterlin. Yasmel slid towards the edge, her hands coming out at the last second to grab onto one of the wooden pilings that held the dock. She clung to the wooden pole, ducking as one of the creatures tumbled over her. The waves of the river were violent, and Yasmel clutched the piling tighter. The Dead shrieked as they were tossed into the water. Yasmel stared fearfully at the hundreds of Dead Hands. Resigned, she closed her eyes, let go of the piling, and plunged into the River. Running forward, Nathaniel leapt off of the dock for the deep, cold water of the Ratterlin River.


	8. Chapter 8 The Ratterlin & Jakomes

The Abhorsen's Sword 

Chapter 8

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the concepts of the Old Kingdom, Charter Magic or Free Magic. They belong to Garth Nix (all hail!) The characters and plot are mine.

A/N: Sorry for the cliff-hanger type ending of Ch.7. I couldn't think of a better way to finish it off. As always, praise and/or constructive criticism is very much appreciated!! Please review! Anyhow, on with Chapter 8!

The River Ratterlin surged with the ferocious gusts of wind, and the small form that was Yasmel floated downstream, amidst the large golden flashes that were the Dead falling into the water. Nathaniel spat out water, and rubbed it out of his eyes, bobbing in the current as he searched for Yasmel. He spied her lavender surcoat and grabbed for it, hauling her over to him. Gently lifting her head out of the water, he looked at her face. River water mixed in with the blood on her cheeks and trickled into her fair blonde hair. Flinching as a wave threatened to push them under, Nathaniel clutched at Yasmel, pulling her closer. Kicking furiously, holding her with one hand and paddling with the other, Nathaniel battled the current and the waves. A large piece of the dock drifted by, and Nathaniel swam after it and grabbed it. After he pushed Yasmel up onto it, he held on and floated in the water a bit, relaxing. Once he had rested for awhile, Nathaniel steered them to the opposite bank, glancing back at the Dead, and the flashing on the water. As he swam, Yasmel moaned, and Nathaniel peered up fearfully. She was still unconscious. Nathaniel renewed his efforts, and spoke softly to Yasmel, reassuring both her _and_ himself that the opposite shore would be reached soon.

The pack on his back was sodden, and the hilt of the Abhorsen's sword was painfully digging into his neck. There were splinters in his hands and forearms from the wood of the dock. His leg muscles were cramping and spasming as he pushed them to keep kicking, so it was a tremendous relief to get to the shore of the Ratterlin across from Qyrre. The wood of their makeshift raft scraped roughly along the worn rounded stones at the bottom of the river, and Nathaniel pushed it up onto the land. Staggering up out of the water, his legs gave out and he fell to the smooth rocks. The rain had lessened to a light drizzle, and it washed the dirt from his face. If not for the smell of Free Magic in it, the rain would have been refreshing.

Crawling on all fours, he reached Yasmel, who had come to and was groggily looking around. Her nose was bloody and crooked, but it was the wounds on her chest and arms that concerned Nathaniel. The redness and inflammation was severe, and the wounds on her forearms were raw and already starting to look infected. Nathaniel stared at the blood stained insigna of the Clayr on her lavender surcoat, marshalling his strength to reach into the Charter and cast healing spells. He was distracted by a sudden movement, and was startled to see Yasmel jump up and lurch over to the small green bushes that lined the forest. She hung onto a small birch tree for support while she bent over and threw up. She was on her way back to Nathaniel when she passed out again. Nathaniel flinched when she hit the stony ground. He crawled over to her.

Nathaniel held out his sword and Charter marks flared on it as he cast the North Mark for a Diamond of Protection. He was nearing complete exhaustion as the West Mark flowed out of his blade to the rocky earth, completing the spell. He decided to cast the Diamond before he cast healing spells. He had feared that after casting the healing spells, he wouldn't have the energy to complete the Diamond. Seeing as how he barely had the energy to complete their Diamond of Protection, it was probably a good thing that he cast it first. Sighing, he moved to re-sheathe his sword. Charter marks flashed and Nathaniel noticed etching on the blade; "The Clayr Saw me, the Wallmaker forged me, the King quenched me, the Royal line will wield me." He had only heard of the Ancient Wallmakers, the ones who had constructed the Wall separating Anclestierre and the Kingdom, and the Charter Stones. They were a Blood line, like the Abhorsens or the Clayr. Or Royalty, Nathaniel thought. He sat pondering beside Yasmel as he shepherded strength to cast healing spells.

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Other Types of Free Magic Elementals and Creatures

Jakomes are an advanced, but uncommon type of Free Magic creature. Their sense of direction is second to none, and their strategic planning skills are never lacking. A skeletal, man-like shape, the Jakome has the head of an overlarge raven, with glowing silver eyes and a beak that can rend and tear nearly anything. Very intelligent creatures, they cannot be destroyed by Charter Magic. They can be weakened though, and sent back into Death. The eyes are the weakest points of the creature, and so the Jakome is very defensive of them. If one is able to penetrate the eyes with a Charter blade, or a spelled oaken dagger, it will be relatively easy to force the creature back into the deeper realms of Death. 

If one is not able to pierce the eyes, sending the creature into Death is more complicated, but possible, nevertheless. It requires the warrior to enter into Death, leaving their bodies well guarded in a Diamond of Protection, or hidden far from the creatures physical form. The creature must be lured into Death, and subdued with the counter-ringing (or counter-piping) of Mosrael, and the ringing (or piping) of Saraneth. Saraneth will bind the Jakome to the warrior's will for it to pass the Ninth. Mosrael will greatly affect the Free Magic creature, as the Jakome relies on it's intelligence more than Magic or physical strength, and the counter-ringing will profoundly change the creature's ability to think, plan or reason. The Jakome must be fought in Death, for the bells (or pipes) do not have a noticed effect on it in Life.

  
Tirylese had opportunity to read the Bestiary that she had stuffed into her pack at nightfall, within her Diamond of Protection. Lit by a tiny Charter light, she leaned closer to the page, and sighed deeply. She missed her uncle, but having something to focus on made the ache of grief subside for a while. Reading about the creatures that her uncle had seen at Albalef was frightening. She had never encountered a Jakome before, and the large leather-bound volume that lay open on her lap did not encourage her. "Counter-ringing of Mosrael?" Tirylese shut her eyes. That in itself was dangerous. Doing so while pitted against a strong Free Magic creature? Impossible. Tirylese studied the page on Jakomes once more before closing the book and lying down for a fitful sleep.

Yasmel awoke from a deep slumber and yawned. Her nose still slightly stung, but she, surprisingly, felt fine. Nathaniel, however, was across the remains of a small fire from her, snoring loudly. She hazily recalled the Charter spells that Nathaniel had worked on her. Her memory was a bit fuzzy. It was as if she was viewing the previous night's events from a distance, or through a patchy fog. Fingering one of the holes in her surcoat, she remembered the soft glow of Charter light and Magic as Nathaniel cleansed her wounds. She shut her pale blue eyes as she was reminded of how those wounds got there. The stench of Free Magic was still in her now-crooked nose. The teeth of the Dead were sharp, their gaping mouths hungry. A chill shivered down her spine and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She clasped her elbows and rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself. Yasmel supposed that she was physically healed, but the trauma she suffered on the Ratterlin would take a little more than Charter Spells to repair.

She dug through her pack, finding soggy dried meat, stale (but wet) bread, and a bruised apple. She sighed. Venturing down the shore, she moved quietly. There were tracks of much game here. She sat quietly for an hour before Nathaniel's honking-goose snoring let up. No animals had ventured out while she sat, and so Yasmel went back to the camp with empty hands.

When Nathaniel woke up from his well-deserved sleep, Yasmel was walking towards camp. Nathaniel blinked sleepily and stretched as he sat up, greeting the small woman approaching. She smiled and sat down. "So, what is the plan now?" Yasmel asked.

"Well, I'm going to dip my head into the River to wake up, then after that…" Nathaniel shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead."

Yasmel stared. Nathaniel smiled, embarassed. "Sorry. I suppose we should keep going south. That will take us to…."

The Clayr pulled the parchement map from her pack and unrolled it. "That will take us to the Long Cliffs, from there we cross to the Abhorsen's house."

"Alright. If only it were that simple." Nathaniel rose and stiffly walked over to the shore of the Ratterlin. He lay down and did as he said he would, and dunked his head into the icy water. Sputtering, he came back to the camp, looking much more alert and awake. "Alright. Shall we move on?"

The sky was still clouded over, but there was enough sunlight that they both felt protected and able to travel. It wasn't raining anymore, which Nathaniel felt was a blessing. Moving slowly at first, the travelers followed the Ratterlin south for a few more miles before stopping for a bit of food. Nathaniel had flushed a small hare out of the bush, and Yasmel, thinking quickly, had cast a spell-woven net and ensnared it. The two had hoped to replenish their food stores and other supplies in Qyrre, but that did not happen. The only food that they had was the poor fare in Yasmel's soggy pack. The hare had cooked nicely, and had tasted wonderful. 

After their meal, they consulted Yasmel's map, searching for a town or village between Qyrre and the Abhorsen's house. There were two small fishing villages. "Should we stop at the first? Houghton?"

Yasmel measured with her thumb on the map. It was about 70 miles to the Long Cliffs. Walking for six hours a day, it would take three days to get there. It was a day's walk to Houghton. Yasmel sighed. "I suppose we should stop there. We won't have food enough to reach the second village at the rate we're going."

"Unless we manage to scare up another rabbit… and speaking of the rate we're going, perhaps we should get going again." Nathaniel lifted his nose into the breeze. The slight odor of Free Magic was on the air again. Yasmel scented it and shuddered. But the fear of Free Magic was unfounded today, for nothing showed itself to the weary travelers. They walked for hours without incident, following the steady flow of the cold Ratterlin, wading across it's tributaries. They reached Houghton just before sunset. 

The innsman held them at swordpoint while he checked their Charter Marks with trembling fingers. "Sorry, Sir, and Gentlelady. We gots to be careful, ye know." He said softly as he lowered his sword. "I got a couple of rooms that're empty. You can take them, if you've a liking."

Nathaniel did "have a liking." It was the first real bed he'd slept in for a week, at least, and he sank into the soft mattress and pillow gratefully.

A/N : Alright, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I've changed a bit in Ch. 4 to make it fit with canon. (The whole "The King quenched me…" deal. So I've changed the forging scene to match that. It doesn't matter much to this story, so don't worry about it.) 

I've made a few changes to grammar and spelling in this chapter (to please my much loved and appreciated reviewers. Thanks!) Thanks for reading, and please review! (I've shut off the "Login to Review" option, I know it ticks people off. Sorry.)


	9. Chapter 9 Houghton & Estel, Rain & Shin...

Chapter Nine

A/N: I've changed the excerpt from Tirylese's bestiary "Other Elementals and Free Magic Creatures". It read that "counter-ringing Mosrael" would disrupt the Jakomes ability to think, when "counter-ringing Belgaer (the Thinker)" is what I meant to put down. 

The small town of Houghton, despite its comfortable beds, was not a very friendly place. Yasmel quietly mentioned to Nathaniel that when faced with a choice between the Inkeeper they had met last night and the shopkeepers they had to deal with this morning, she would rather be back with the Inkeeper, though he had held them at swordpoint. Nathaniel sullenly agreed with her.

Eyes followed the strangely dressed travellers as they made their way through the crowded marketplace, replenishing supplies and food. The travelers, to the townsfolk, certainly looked threatening, especially the young man. He was equipped with two long swords, and the way he carried himself suggested power and authority. Though they did not carry bells, the some of the townsfolk had barely a doubt that the stangers were necromancers of sorts.

"Ach, that's impossible, Fellany, yeh got yer ears on backwards?" A gnarled old man sitting on a bench said loudly to his companion. "'Course they ain't necromancers! D'ye smell that gawdawful stench that necromancers carry with 'em? 'Sides, Balsem down to the Inn says that 'e 'imself checked their Charter Marks. 'Sides bein' the strongest Marks 'e ever touched, they were pure, 'e says. So don't you be talkin' ta me about necromancers!"

The travelers were nearly done topping up their food stores when Yasmel stumbled. Her eyes were blank as she fell against a booth that sold live chickens. Both the hens and the owner of the booth squawked loudly as the counter tipped over, sending feathers and coins flying. Nathaniel drew his sword with grace, whirled around at the disturbance and heard the vocalization of prophecy.

"Tirylese draws closer to her doom. The Prince rides south with the all speed he can muster, but it will not be enough. The Wallmaker and the Voice must be at Albalef before sundown tomorrow." Yasmel gave a shuddering gasp and pushed herself up off of the ground with her hands. The townsfolk stared as Nathaniel re-sheathed his sword and aided Yasmel to her feet. She was out of breath, but she cleared her throat and said weakly, "I Saw us on horseback. We must go now."

"Yes, I heard," Nathaniel said, but muttered good-humouredly"INow/I we get to go on horseback. I said before we left that going on horseback seemed like a good idea, but "No" she Saw us walking..."

The townsfolk drew back as the small woman stared around the marketplace, searching. She rushed over to the nearest stable and peered in. She shook her head before moving on to the next, where she found the horses she was searching for. Nathaniel quietly followed her, and while she made her way into the livery and sale stable, he looked at what she was currently haggling over. Two grey Andalusians were housed in the stalls that were closest to Nathaniel. With a small smile on her face, Yasmel watched the owner of the stable move into one of the tack rooms and search for suitable saddles and halters. When he finished tacking the horses, Yasmel handed over a small sack. Nathaniel watched the owner happily weigh it in his hand, and assumed that it was the last of their gold. 

Yasmel led the horses out of the stable and beckoned to Nathaniel, who clambered over the plank fence and strode towards their new mounts. Yasmel had climbed up on hers by the time that Nathaniel reached them, and was arranging her pack. As he placed his foot in one of the stirrups, Nathaniel suddenly remembered all of his equestrian training from childhood, and recalled how much he hated horses. Sighing deeply, he pulled himself into the saddle and prepared his muscles for a day of hellish riding.

Tirylese groaned as she stepped through her Diamond of Protection. The fading Charter Marks dissipated in the morning sunlight. She was a half-days walk from Estel. The Cliffs loomed behind her. She wanted more than anything to be back at the House, safe and warm. "Does the walker choose the path..." Uncle's voice in her head asked, and as Tirylese walked down the worn road towards Estel, she replied "...or does the path choose the walker?" The wind gusted and blew leaves into her hair and face. The wind also brought the scent of Free Magic, and Tirylese's resolve was strengthened. Holding her head high, running through her mind the words that were inscribed on the final page of "The Book of the Dead", she bravely walked on to Estel.

As she arrived, the small city was not as it had been five days before. The usually bustling streets were silent. The fresh mountain air was tainted with the reek of Free Magic. The houses, once so friendly, were now barred and shuttered. Tirylese thanked the Charter that it was high noon, and reached out with her death sense. Half of the creatures in the city were Dead. The others, Tirylese assumed, were behind the doors of the barred houses. She bowed her head and used her uncanny ability to hone in on where the concentration of the Dead lie. 

Walking down the main road of the city, she came to one of the smaller side streets, and turned to her left. Unsheathing her sword and Saraneth, she stood motionless in the middle of the road. Ringing the sixth bell, she called out, "Back into Death!" Letting her own body freeze, she allowed her spirit slide into the dark waters that she had traversed so many times. Here in Death, she would be able to control the fell creatures better. Their spirits came, gnashing their teeth and howling, into the First Presinct, where they were all banished beyond the Ninth Gate.

Icicles snapped off of her embroidered surcoat as she moved, coming back into the pleasant warmth of Life. Peering around in the sudden brightness, she shouted, "People of Estel! Where is your Charter Mage? This is the Abhorsen!" She waited moment before one of the houses closest to her creaked and the shutter of the front window opened slightly. A small face peeped out.

"The Charter Mage is up the road. In the house that is next to the shoemakers shop." Before Tirylese could thank this person, the shutter abruptly clunked back into place, and the face vanished. Tirylese considered telling these folks that the Dead had gone, but dismsissed that idea. More Dead would probably take over the area once she had left, and so she simply walked up towards the house where the Charter Mage supposedly was.

He was walking down the steps of the house that the face had sent her to when she got there. Holding his arms out, smiling, he said "Abhorsen! I thought I had heard you calling! Have you rid my fine city of the Dead?"

Amused at this stout man who thought he was a politician, Tirylese shook her head. "No, sir. There are several Free Magic creatures south of here, near Albalef. I fear that more Dead will simply take over your city when the sun falls, or if the cloud increases. I must leave here long before then."

The Mage looked crest-fallen as Tirylese said this. "I do hope that the good people of Albalef are alright. Thank-you, Abhorsen, for being here. You are going, then, to Albalef?" He asked hopefully.

"Yes."

He nodded. "When you do head back for your home, after, please stop back here. This city is a good place, and we are thankful for your protection."

Tirylese smiled. "I know, sir. I do like Estel, and I will return to rid your city of the Dead again. Until that time, please ensure that everyone stays as they are now; well hidden."

"Of course, of course! Thank-you again, Abhorsen." The Mage squinted up at the sky. "Doubtless you want to be getting away. I would offer you a horse, but as you can see," The mage swept his arm at the empty ranges, "we don't have one to part with now. The Dead were sating themselves on them. Many apologies, but you will have to walk."

Tirylese nodded. "Thank-you." She slowly walked with her head down out of the city, and continued her trek south.

Henreid had caught up with his company several hours after leaving the Clayr's Glacier. Switching horses at checkpoints, he mounted the fresh one with growing apprehension at the days to come. In the same hour that he took charge of the Royal Guard, a Message Hawk from the Glacier reached him.

"Tirylese draws closer to her doom. The Royal Guard must be south of Estel before the sun falls tomorrow," the voice of the Daughter of the Clayr Qatryn was issued as the large bird opened its sharp pointed beak. Henreid smoothed down the ruffled feathers of the hawk before placing it on a tree branch.

"Thank you. You've had a long flight. Abhorsen's house is not far from here, and it has many mews. Perhaps you could recover there for your journey back to the Glacier."

Addressing his soldiers, Henreid yelled that they must make all speed south, to Estel.

The cloud built up more and more solidly as Nathaniel and Yasmel made their way to Albalef. Estel had been a let down. The houses had been barred, and there was nothing stirring in the small city. However, there were piles of ash in the road, indicating that many Dead had been slain. This fact heartened Nathaniel. Tirylese had been here. Pressing on, they had a short ride to Albalef. The heavy clouds began to dribble fat drops of rain, which smelled again of Free Magic, and sizzled on the travelers' Charter Marks before trickling down their weary faces. The road underneath grew slick and muddy, and the rain increased.

"I am really getting tired of being rained on." Nathaniel shouted into the wind, hoping it reached the ears of the Clayr riding in front of him. 

"Yes, I agree!" She shouted back. "Let's find whoever is working these clouds and part them from their heads!" She clapped once, letting the reins fall to the horn of the saddle, and began to whistle slowly, Charter Magic infusing each note and trill. A North-east wind began to rise and, as the riders continued, patches of the cloud began to break up, and the rain lessened. Nathaniel aided Yasmel's weather working a bit, but he mostly kept silent, garnering his energy. 

"There seems to be the most resistance from the west... I am assuming that's where the weather workers are." Yasmel said. "Shall we go there first? It won't be a long ways from Albalef..."

Digging his heels into the ribs of the horse, Nathaniel pulled the reins to his right. "It will help to dispel any Dead Hands if we are able to get rid of this cloud cover."

As they rode west, Yasmel intensified her Charter weather working, singing out Charter Marks instead of just whistling. The golden Marks, when they hit the rain, fizzled and dissolved the drops. The cloud overhead slowly began to change, Nathaniel saw as they made their way towards the weather workers and Albalef. Dapples of blue appeared between snatches of dull grey. Some of the clouds began to show a white edging as the rain in them was spent or evaporated by Yasmel's work. A little ways west, there was a concentrated effort of Free Magic, felt stongly by Yasmel and Nathaniel. Yasmel's horse reared as the cloud began to steadily build again. Fog lazily drifted over them, renewing the metallic stench of Free Magic. The Charter spell halted as Yasmel retched, sliding sideways on the horse, who was milling about anxiously. Nathaniel went to her and supported her until she righted herself on the saddle again. He drew in the air with his fingers a Charter spell for renewal, and interwove it with a Charter Mark for strength. Cupping it in his hand, he placed his palm on Yasmel's throat. Smiling, she began to sing again, aided by Nathaniel's whistles. Their hands holding tight, their fingers entwined, they worked the cloud, summoning wind. The blue dapples appeared again, but this time, they stayed and grew, showing rays of the sun. 

The travelers rode again, and Nathaniel unsheathed his sword. At a full out gallop, they found the weather workers; Shadow hands, who abruptly vanished before them. This left the Charter unhampered to clear the cloud. Brilliant afternoon sunshine poured down. Nathaniel squinted in the sudden light as they continued their ride to Albalef.

I'm sorry, my personal life in imploding right now, so I'm not able to complete this chapter the way I want to. Hopefully, everything will settle down, and I'll be able to release a lengthy chapter 10. Thought I'd post this before Narn and everyone who's been reading this abandon me for lack out output. Anyway, I hope you liked it, please review.


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